


Festival of Trees & Lights

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-06
Updated: 2004-03-06
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Josh. Donna. The December Holidays.





	Festival of Trees & Lights

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**The Festival of Trees & Lights **

**by: spitzthecat**

**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
 **Rating:** ADULT  
 **Disclaimer:** Not mine, never gonna be mine. Anything you recognize from pop culture isn't mine either. If it was, would I still be this deep in debt? Really, if you want my crappy ass job, truck payment and two emotionally disturbed cats you're welcome to them.  
 **Summary:** Josh. Donna. The December Holidays. The Joshua Monologues #048  


__

Thursday, December 18, 2003.

Donna is worrying me today.

I found her digging through boxes at three o�clock this morning looking for the menorah my mother handed down to us last year. To get her to come back to bed, I had to swear I�d not only polish the thing tonight, but that I�d stop and get candles for it on my way home from work.

In my 41 years on this Earth, I have never bought my own Chanukah candles. Mamme ships them to me religiously to arrive the day I need them and I fully expect the box containing this year�s supply to be delivered before sundown tomorrow. 

Along with 7 individually wrapped pairs of new boxer shorts and a pair of new shoes. 

Anyway. Back to Donna. I think this has to do with the holidays. Christmas is her favorite time of year and over the past couple of years, I�ve discovered there�s something magical in her enjoyment of it. Something magical enough to override my normal apathy for this time of year.

�What time where you planning to get home tomorrow?� Donna sticks her head in my office.

I look up from the report I�m supposed to be reviewing for Leo and lean back in my chair. �If President Bartlet will let me out of here early enough, I was thinking about taking David to temple at 6:30. Then I thought we would light the menorah, open the presents and pig out on latkes, like we did last year. Why?�

�I was thinking since Thanksgiving turned into such a bust, we could invite everyone over for a Chanukah party.� Donna replies enthusiastically.

�If you want to, I guess that�s cool. I thought it would be nice just the three of us,� I shrug. I�m not a huge fan of celebrating Chanukah with parties, but if she wants to�

From the look on her face, I clearly took the wind out of her sails.

�Donna,� I let out a sigh. �What�s the deal? What�s wrong with celebrating like we did last year? Just being together, opening the little gifts we get each other. Why do we have to make it a huge deal?�

There�s a knock on my doorframe before she can answer. 

�You�re supposed to be in the Oval Office in three minutes,� my assistant says. Sensing he interrupted something, Chris retreats quickly.

�Can we talk about this tonight?� I ask, gathering my files.

�We don�t need to talk about it. If you don�t want to have a party, we won�t have a party,� Donna says.

***

I got the party idea from Josh�s mom. When she finally made it to DC for Thanksgiving, I pulled her aside and talked to her about how they used to celebrate Chanukah when Josh was younger. I know this isn�t his favorite time of year and I thought it might make the holiday more special for him to revive some of his family�s traditions. Elisa told me about the parties they threw every year on the how they would get all their friends together to eat, gossip and socialize.

Evidently, Josh doesn�t have the same fond memories of these parties as his mom.

***

I hang back after the rest of the economic team files out of the Oval Office following a mind-numbing lecture on the volatility of the modern business cycle to ask the President a question.

Well, a favor, really.

�Need something, Josh?� Bartlet asks, taking a memo from Charlie.

I have no idea why I�m so apprehensive about my request. It isn�t all that out of line. �I was wondering, sir� Tomorrow is the first night of Chanukah and since it�s Friday, I wanted to take David to temple, but the service starts at 6:30 and the last meeting tomorrow is on the schedule for 8 o�clock. I was wondering if someone else could cover the evening meetings.�

President Bartlet stops reading and looks at me incredulously. �You want to leave early tomorrow night so you can take David to church?�

�Temple,� I correct him. �And yes, sir. I�d like to leave early tomorrow night to take my son to temple.�

�There�s nothing pressing on the agenda, is there?� 

I shake my head and he shrugs in response. �I don�t see a problem then. You�ll be back in Saturday morning, right? There isn�t like a four hour follow-up thing the next morning is there?�

�No, sir,� I smile. �That�s Toby. I�ll be in Saturday morning.�

***

Josh�s meeting in the Oval Office gives me the perfect opportunity to start figuring out why he�s less than excited about having a party tomorrow night. I waste no time picking up the phone to call the one person who knows my husband as well as I do. Someone who can shed some insight into his aversion to Chanukah parties.

The woman who mentioned them in the first place.

His mother.

She answers the phone after only two rings.

�Elisa? It�s Donna.�

�What�s the matter, dear?� she asks, instantly assuming the worst. Like mother, like son.

�Nothing. Well, we�re banning all food from Operations until New Year�s if I have anything to say about it, but nothing�s wrong. I just have a question.�

�Too much chocolate?� she laughs.

�Way too much chocolate and too many cookies and candy and everything,� I agree. �Anyway, you know how over Thanksgiving you were telling me about the parties you used to throw for the first night of Chanukah?�

�Of course, but Joshua already has my recipe for latkes and the box I sent with your gifts in it should be there tomorrow, along with��

�No, no,� I interrupt. �It�s just� When I mentioned it to Josh today, he didn�t seem very enthusiastic. I wondered if you might know what the deal is?�

�Hmm,� Elisa says, thinking it over. �There was a group of eight families in our congregation and every night each of us would host a get-together. Josh would have been about 13 when we started this� I seem to recall he never went on school nights because he always had homework, but� I don�t honestly remember, Donna, I�m sorry.�

�It�s okay. I just wanted to head it off if it was going to be a thing,� I assure her.

I think it�s going to be a thing.

I hate things during the holidays.

***

Since I�m not staffing the President today, I�m able to leave with Donna at 7 o�clock. She seems to have let the idea of a Chanukah party go, but I feel compelled to tell her why I don�t want one.

I�m not particularly looking forward to the conversation. It�s something I rarely talk about. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I�ve discussed it with Donna.

It takes me most of the evening to gather the courage to broach the subject. We�re lounging together on the sofa, sharing a quilt, while we watch TV. David has been fed, entertained and bathed. He�s snuggled against my chest, fighting sleep with little success.

�Chanukah was Joanie�s favorite holiday,� I finally volunteer �Grandpa used to come up from the City every night. We�d light the menorah at sundown and eat. After we got our little bags of gelt, Grandpa would get down on the floor with me and Joanie and we�d play with dreidel��

�Your mom said she and your dad used to host a party on the first night of Chanukah every year?� Donna probes.

�Yeah� After Joanie died, Dad and Mamme kind of fell away from religion. I don�t want to say they blamed God for what happened, but they had a hard time reconciling it, you know?� I wait for Donna�s nod before continuing. �The closest Dad got to a synagogue for several years was dropping me off at Hebrew School twice a week. Grandpa would come up Friday night to take me to temple. He made sure I went to religious school on the weekends. I think I was twelve before my parents started going to temple again. It wasn�t long before my bar mitzvah. That�s when they started doing the party thing. It was too different for me. I wanted what we had before� I wanted my sister. Dad and Mamme had stopped mentioning her by then� When Grandpa passed away a couple of years later it felt like there was nothing left of her in my life,� I finish in a whisper. 

I can feel the tears starting to work their way down my cheeks. This is why I so rarely talk about Joanie; I can�t do it without crying.

***

Josh falls silent, taking his solace in rubbing David�s back. He doesn�t talk about his sister much. I know the basics: he was seven when she died and he blames himself for her death to this day. I know she played the piano and he loved to sing along. 

�It felt like they were trying to erase the memories I had of her,� he continues quietly. �Like we couldn�t celebrate the way we had before because it would hurt to much to remember how much Joanie loved it. She always wanted to light the candles while Dad and Grandpa said the blessings. We used to sneak downstairs after we were supposed to be in bed to watch them burn out every night.�

�How old was Joanie when she died?� I ask when he pauses.

�Ten,� he swallows, taking a deep breath. �Dad and Mamme were next door at the Meyers playing bridge. I was grounded because Justin Meyers and I had thrown rotten eggs at Old Man Richardson�s house. Joanie was supposed to be practicing for a piano recital the next night. We were watching a movie instead and we wanted popcorn, so Joanie plugged machine in and started it��

�There was a faulty cord?� I hazard a guess.

�No. We got caught up in the movie and forgot about it. By the time we smelt it burning, it was too late. The popcorn was on fire. It was right under the curtains and they were on fire, too. Joanie sent me to get Dad while she stayed, but�� Josh stops. The tears that had been trickling down his face are streaming now. I find his hand and grip it, trying to give him the strength to finish his story.

�Dad and Mr. Meyers tried to go in and save her, but they couldn�t get into the kitchen. Mr. Meyers had to drag Dad out of the house to keep him from going after her�� he pauses again to steady his voice. �Dad had the whole house torn down and rebuilt. Then he sold it and we moved across town.�

�When did your grandfather move in with you?� This is another story I only know the outline of. Elijah Lyman was living with his son�s family at the time of his death, but Josh has kept the details of his childhood close to his heart. When he has spoken of his grandfather, it has been with the reverence he reserves for his father.

�It was early in the spring of �75, if I remember right. I had just turned 13. His room was right next to mine and when I had nightmares about the fire, he always heard me. I�d wake up and he�d be sitting on my bed, telling me it wasn�t my fault. I�d usually be too scared to go back to sleep, so he would sit up with me and tell me how important it was that I never, ever forget about Joanie and how much she meant to me. He told me stories about my grandmother and their life in Poland before the Nazis. One night I finally got the nerve to ask him about the War and he told some of what he had seen at Auschwitz and Birkenau. He said because he survived, he had a duty to those who hadn�t. A duty to pass on what he had witnessed to the next generation so the horrors men visited upon one another would not be forgotten and repeated. I made him a promise on his deathbed that I would not let our family die out and I would pass on his stories to my children. I promised him I would do everything I could to make sure nothing like the Holocaust ever happened again.�

Josh�s tears have stopped, a subdued pride replacing sadness in his eyes. �I studied my ass off in high school to get into Harvard, so I could keep my promise to Grandpa. Once I got there, reality set in and I spent my freshman year learning things most guys learn in high school.�

�From Cindy McNeil?� I ask, innocently. Josh blushes furiously at the mention of his pastry-chef ex-girlfriend.

�And a few others,� he admits. �Mostly girls who came from different backgrounds than I did. I learned I can�t drink hard liquor and smoking pot out of a homemade potato-bong makes me puke, but smoking it any other way is fine.�

�Joshua Lyman! You smoked pot in college?� I feign shock.

�I even inhaled,� he grins briefly. �It was the early 80�s. Most people I knew were doing coke and LSD. I wanted to go to law school, though, and I couldn�t afford to get busted. They looked the other way at marijuana back then, but if they caught you doing cocaine or anything like that, they expelled you.�

�Okay, so now I get why you don�t want to have a party, but what�s with the sudden urge to take David to temple? Other than your mother�s nagging?� I steer the conversation away from his college antics.

�It isn�t sudden,� Josh replies. �I loved going to temple when I was a little kid. They didn�t have all the nursery and daycare stuff they do now. I remember sitting on Dad�s lap, listening to the cantor sing. God, I wanted to be able to sing like that� And I went every Friday night for six weeks in a row last summer.�

When Josh glances down at David, I know what he�s talking about. Our son has surrendered to sleep, his whole body rising and falling as he breathes.

�When I came to Washington to work in Congress, I tried out different synagogues until I found one where I was comfortable. I didn�t actually join, but I made an effort to go during the High Holy days and on the anniversaries of Grandpa and Joanie�s deaths. I�m not sure how Rabbi Fink managed to learn my name, but he did. What did he say to you, by the way, to get you to let him in my room?�

It takes me a minute to remember the incident he�s referring to. The first Friday night after the shooting, a man came to his room and told me he was one of rabbis who volunteered at the hospital and would it be all right if he spent some time with Josh. I called the hospital administrator at home and when the guy checked out, I let him in, figuring Josh could use all the help he could get.

***

�I thought you needed some divine intervention,� Donna replies.

�I did,� I agree. �I felt guilty about not putting more effort into going afterwards. I did finally join the congregation, but��

�You didn�t go very often,� Donna finishes.

�It seemed like such an inconvenience. I had trouble justifying leaving early on Friday nights when everyone else was dealing with the crisis of the moment. But when David was born so early� It was the only thing I could think to do. I felt like the only one who could give me the outcome I wanted was God. The doctors couldn�t do anything. The President couldn�t do anything. We were helpless.�

�There�s nothing wrong with praying for what you want, Josh. God knows, I did my share during that time,� Donna says, trying to reassure me what I did was normal.

�It feels wrong because I only go when I want something. I feel like I need be at least a little more observant. I want� I want David to remember going to temple with me the way I remember going with my dad. I want him to remember holidays as being about family,� I finish. 

Donna meets my eyes, telling me without words she gets it.

***

�Why don�t you put David down and then come to bed?� I suggest when it�s clear Josh has finished his story. The emotional toll it has taken on him is plainly evident. 

Without a word, he sits up slowly to avoid waking the baby and pads down the hall into the nursery. I can hear the low tones of his voice as he puts David to bed while I make my way to our bedroom. This has the potential to be a long night; Josh talked about a number of things that still cause nightmares for him.

He looks miserable when he joins me in bed. I feel like my heart is going to break for him when he crawls under the covers and curls up facing the wall.

I roll onto my side with the grace of a beached whale to touch him. �Thank you.�

�For what?� he mumbles, the crack of his voice betraying the tears he�s shedding again.

�For sharing yourself with me. I know you don�t like to talk about Joanie and you�ve never told me so much about your grandfather before.� I reach around his side to press the palm of my hand against his heart. �I love you.�

�I love you, too.� He lays his hand over mine, squeezing it tightly.

***

__

Friday, December 19, 2003.

�Before you go, Josh.� President Bartlet opens his attaché case and pulls out a package wrapped in blue paper.

�What�s this?� I ask, taking it.

�It�s a Chanukah present for David,� he answers. �Make sure you stop and see Leo on the way out. He�s got something, too.�

�You didn�t need to buy him anything, sir, really,� I protest.

�Abbey and I wanted to. End of discussion. Now, go see Leo and then get out of here or you�ll be late,� the President admonishes.

Leo gives me a similarly wrapped gift and sends me on my way. 

I swing through Donna�s office to let her know I�m leaving. �What the��

Her sofa is piled high with gifts.

�We need to educate our friends and co-workers on Chanukah gift-giving etiquette,� Donna announces. She takes the two gifts from my hands and adds them to the stack.

�Who�� I�m flabbergasted.

�Everybody. Absolutely everybody. Including Janice the Trekkie.�

�Everybody?� I repeat. 

�Everybody,� Donna says. �Except Toby and I think I�ll chalk that up to the fact Toby understands Chanukah isn�t the Jewish version of Christmas.� 

�Well, actually� Toby slipped me something at Staff this morning. But I think I know what it is,� I pull the small, lumpy package out of my coat pocket.

Donna�s face takes on a cast of pure disgust at the excess on display in her office. �What are we going to do with this stuff? You know it�s all toys and stuffed animals��

�Okay�� Think fast, Lyman. This could send your wife into an emotional tailspin. �Got it.�

I close the door and toss Toby�s gift from hand to hand. �We keep the stuff from CJ, Sam, the Bartlets, Toby, Leo and��

�Matt Skinner,� Donna interjects. 

�And Matt,� I agree. �The rest of it, we donate to Toys for Tots or something. Then we send nice thank you notes, explaining while we appreciate the thoughtfulness��

�We couldn�t in good conscience accept all of those gifts when there are thousands of children in Washington who won�t get anything this holiday season,� Donna continues, following my logic.

�And next year, we put the word out early no presents for Chanukah,� I finish, pocketing Toby�s gift again.

�Sounds like a plan. And since you thought of it, I�m sure it will go horribly awry,� Donna pecks me on the cheek. �I�ll take care of this stuff, you need to go or you�ll be late.�

***

It takes eight trips to carry everything upstairs when I get home, leaving me huffing and puffing on the couch. After I catch my breath, I call my mother-in-law, who says she�ll see if she can find what I�m looking for.

With my plan for Josh�s Christmas present underway, I decide to take a quiet moment to relax. I prop my swollen feet up on the coffee table, lean my head back against the couch cushion and close my eyes with a deep sigh, letting my mind drift back to what Josh told me last night.

As much as we communicate, as much tell each other what�s bothering us, what we want for the future, very rarely do we open up about our pasts. He doesn�t like to talk about his childhood. Since I walked into his office nearly six years ago, he�s spoken about Joanie three times and his grandfather twice. Most of what I know, I learned from Elisa. She talked about their family history quite a bit the first few days after the shooting, when we sat together at his bedside. For Josh to open up and tell the stories he told last night is indicative of how much he loves and trusts me. 

It�s the most valuable gift he has every given me and I�m not sure I can ever tell him how much I love him for it.

***

Donna�s asleep on the sofa when David and I get home from temple. The opportunity to awaken her with a kiss is too good to pass up. David greets his mother in his own special way he squeals loudly in her ear.

�You�re home,� she mumbles, opening her eyes slowly.

�Happy Chanukah,� I reply before kissing her again. 

�How did he do?� Donna pats the sofa cushion, inviting me to sit down. 

�Pretty good. There was a little crying, but we sat in the back and when he started fussing, I gave him the last bottle in the bag.� David did far better than I expected him to. One of the main reasons I�ve been putting off taking him to temple is I didn�t think he�d sit through the whole service without pitching a fit. The only thing missing tonight was Donna. �You should come next time� if you want to.�

�But I�m not Jewish and I don�t plan on converting. We�ve talked about this,� Donna protests, sitting up.

�I go to church with your family and I�m not Lutheran,� I point out, idly rubbing David�s back. 

She sighs and relaxes. �Good point. I�ll think about it. How�s that?�

�As good an answer as I could hope for,� I smile, kissing her again. �Where�s the box from Mamme?�

Donna points over her shoulder. �Kitchen table.�

Handing David to her, I get up and retrieve the box and the menorah setting on the table next to it. As usual, it contains our supply of Chanukah candles. I pull those out and smirk at the collection of presents my mother managed to cram in the box. In addition to the packages I know are my boxers and shoes, there are 8 gifts each for Donna and David. 

I pull two candles out and position the menorah in the middle of the coffee table.

�It�s really supposed to be displayed in a window, but ours don�t have ledges,� I explain as I slip one candle into the far right holder.

�Wait a minute.� Donna hands David back to me and gets to her feet. �I want pictures.�

***

When I emerge from the bedroom with my camera, Josh is sitting on the coffee table with David on his lap. I can hear him explaining something to Bear in a low voice.

�This is the shamash. It�s the helper candle. We light it first and then use it to light the other candles,� he says, showing our son the candle he�s talking about. He has to pull it away when David grabs it and tries to pull it into his mouth. �You don�t eat it, Bear.�

Josh jumps at the sound of the shutter, but his surprise fades into a smile after he realizes what I�m doing. I snap several more as he lights the candles and recites a blessing in Hebrew with David gazing up at him. Even after he�s put the shamash in its spot, Josh continues to sit on the coffee table and stare into the flickering lights. David turns to see what his daddy thinks is so mesmerizing and in that instant I swear I can see two older men standing behind them, one with his hand on Josh�s shoulder and both of them looking on with pride.

The vision vanishes with the flash of my camera. 

***

There�s something missing and I can�t figure out what it is. Donna and I are sitting on the sofa watching the candles dance. David is asleep in his crib and the only sound is his faint snoring. I should be completely content, yet I�m not.

�I have to know where your mother found those little boxer shorts.� Donna holds up the little shorts and giggles. 

�They are pretty cute, aren�t they?� I chuckle. He won�t be able to wear them for another few months, but I didn�t even know they made boxers for babies.

�What was it you said when you lit the candles?� she asks, changing the subject.

I have to think about it to translate the blessing into English. �Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us and enabled us to reach this occasion. Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with his Commandments and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.�

�Do you say it every night?�

�The first part is only the first night, but the second part is said every night,� I reply absently, unsettled by the absence of whatever is missing. 

�I think it was very beautiful,� Donna murmurs, her hand reaching out to massage my thigh.

Taking the hint, I lean in to kiss her, stopping just short of doing so. �I think you�re very beautiful.�

Wordlessly, she closes the remaining distance. She tastes of latkes and applesauce and I�m sure I do as well. Our tongues swirl and dance until I pull away breathless.

�Let�s go to bed,� Donna whispers as she nips at my jaw.

�Bed,� I repeat, nuzzling my nose against hers before getting to my feet and offering Donna my hands.

She keeps hold of them once she�s on her feet, leading me to our bedroom before letting go to pull her sweater over her head. We shed our clothes silently, Donna finishing before me. She turns down the covers and crawls to the center, swaying Squarepants enticingly.

I lie next to her and rest my head on her shoulder, automatically seeking out her pregnant belly. She moans with pleasure at the sensation of my fingernails scraping her skin. Her hand covers mine, guiding it down her thigh as far as we can reach then back up to her center. While she explores herself with my hand, I occupy myself painting her skin with the barest touch of my tongue.

�Easy, baby,� I purr when she slides my fingers into her core. Pulling away from her control, I run my hands back up her body to the top of her stomach and her breasts. They�re heavy in my grasp and Donna groans loudly when I squeeze one firmly, running my thumb over the nipple until its stands erect and puckered.

My lips settle on her neck and she throws her head to the side, giving me even more alabaster skin to enjoy. 

***

Retaking his hand in mine, I guide him back to Squarepants. This time he needs little encouragement. His mouth ravages my neck and shoulder while his fingers plunge inside me, stroking, seeking out my spot. His thumb makes slow, tantalizing circles around my clit until I push against his touch insistently.

�Faster.�

He complies with eagerness, his speed quickening until my breath comes in harsh pants. My hips arch into his thumb, trying to create even more friction to push myself over the edge.

�Come for me. I want you to come for me,� he begs, his lips finding my earlobe.

I grip the sheets tightly, twisting them in response to the tension filling my body until it releases in the rush of orgasm, leaving me limp and panting.

When I regain awareness my eyes settle on Josh, stretched out beside me. He�s propped up on one elbow wearing a mischievous grin.

***

�That was good,� Donna says, her voice sultry and her eyes heavy-lidded.

�I�m glad,� I reply huskily. The sight of her flush with pleasure forces all the blood in my body to my groin, but I don�t want to end this just yet. The night is young and we have time to enjoy one another thoroughly for once.

Slowly, I lean over and flick my tongue over first one nipple and then the other, switching back and forth until they�re both hard and peaked. Only then do I take one breast fully into my mouth, suckling and biting it gently while I palm the other one. 

Donna moans appreciatively. Her hands run through my hair, over my shoulders and down my back, her fingernails scraping here and there when I hit a sensitive spot.

I switch breasts and move my hand to toy with her belly button, eliciting a giggle from her.

�What?� I lift my head to look her in the eye.

�It tickles,� she replies playfully, cupping my cheek in her hand.

I scoot down to run my tongue around the little nub. It�s so much fun now that it�s an outie. �Does that tickle?�

�Nope,� she shakes her head.

�What about this?� I lick a couple inches below, rubbing my thumb over the stretch marks on her hips.

�Nope.�

�Hmmm�� Moving further south, I nibble at the tender skin above her pubic bone.

�Noooo,� she breathes.

My nose against her blonde curls draws hiss and when I part her folds with my thumbs I hear her inhale expectantly. Her orgasm left her wet and ready.

�Yes,� Donna cries, squirming with desire when I touch my tongue to her clit.

I nip at the tiny bundle of nerves until I feel her body tighten in anticipation and then I trace my way to Squarepants and plunge my tongue inside, drinking her in, tasting her saltiness. I�m not trying to make her come, just to push her to the edge.

***

I�m clenching the sheets again as Josh lavishes me with attention. He�s working at it leisurely, torturing me almost.

When he starts to kiss his way back up my body, I�ve had more than I can stand. I need to feelhim inside me. I need to feel our bodies joining.

By the time he reaches my neck, I can feel Spongebob�s heat pressing against my abdomen. With the lightest of touches, I draw one fingernail down the silky skin of Josh�s cock. 

�Donna,� he groans.

�It�s not nice to toy with people, Joshua,� I reply, rubbing the tip until I feel a bead of wetness. My other hand seeks out the spot behind his left ear.

�I�m sorry,� he whimpers, his jaw falling slack mid-kiss.

�Be a good boy, Joshua,� I purr.

He needs no further prompting to kneel between my legs. This is a new position for us, one I found on the internet a couple of days ago, though I�m not sure how we�ve missed it in our sexual adventures. I lie on my back with my feet against his shoulders, tilting my pelvis up. Josh slides himself inside me.

�Oh yeah,� he breathes, pausing to shuffle a bit closer to me.

When we�re both comfortable, Josh pulls back and then pushes in again, testing how far he can go.

�More,� I grind out, needing to take his full length.

His next thrust is what I want. All of him. He moves confidently after that, his hips pounding into me, Spongebob hitting just the right spot every time. It sneaks up on me this time, the pressure building every so gradually again until it bursts through, my muscles contracting around Spongebob without warning.

Josh yelps and plunges into me even deeper for his own release.

He stays there, motionless and panting until I nudge his chin with my toe. 

�You okay there, big guy?� I ask.

�Oh yeah,� he answers. A self-satisfied grin spreads across his face and he snuggles next to me, pulling the covers over us.

***

Tonight is my night to suffer the effects of insomnia. Donna is sound asleep in the aftermath of our lovemaking.

I brush a stray hair free from the corner of her mouth before getting up to check on David. He, too, is fast asleep. It was a big night for my little boy. Not only did he get boxer shorts from his Grandma Mamme, he got a dreidel from his Uncle Toby and a tiny baseball glove from Donna and me. Okay, mostly from me. When I found it the other day, I couldn�t resist. I even got two, putting one away for next Chanukah.

I pour myself a drink from the bottle of scotch we keep around for Toby and retire to the living room to watch the candles in the menorah burn out.

The dreidel was left lying on the coffee table. It looks old, prompting me to pick it up and scrutinize it closer. I can tell by the faded symbols on the four sides, it has been well played with over the years. The one I had as a child was nearly identical. Mine was lost, though, in the fire that took Joanie�s life. 

The scotch does nothing to erase the feeling something�s missing. Something�s not quite right.

***

__

Thursday, December 24, 2003.

The President and First Lady bought David a two-foot long, cloth worm thing for Chanukah. Every time he touches a different section, it makes a different noise. We opened it last night and David hasn�t let go of it since. Josh tried to take it away from him at bedtime, but he screamed bloody murder until he got it back.

It amuses him to no end to squeeze it and make the different noises. He also enjoys slobbering all over the cloth legs. I mention this because we�ve been at the farm for twenty minutes and it�s already causing a ruckus.

Let me set the scene. We got here shortly before noon. Josh agreed to watch the kids while I unpacked and Pat ran into town to get some groceries on the condition he got time to shop for my Christmas present later in the afternoon.

When I went upstairs, he had Timmy and Kelly watching a movie in the living room and was feeding David lunch.

The sound of hysterical crying in two different pitches sends me rushing downstairs convinced Josh has lost all control of the situation.

Bear is sitting on the living room floor under the Christmas tree, red-faced and screaming, tears pouring down his face. Timmy is scrunched in the corner of the couch, clutching David�s toy to his chest and yelling �no� at the top of his lungs over and over again at Josh, who is attempting to rationally trade him for a different toy.

It isn�t working.

Kelly sidles up to me, looking confused. �Why doesn�t Uncle Josh just take it away from Timmy? That�s what Mommy does when he takes my toys.�

I don�t know if he heard her or not, but before I can reply, Josh does just that.

�You do not take toys that aren�t yours!� he tells Timmy, causing a fresh round of tears. �Go sit at the table in the kitchen.�

Timmy shakes his head no so violently his whole body moves.

�Timothy, I�m telling you one more time. Go sit at the table in the kitchen!� Josh orders, standing over the recalcitrant three-year-old with his hands on his hips.

�NO!�

Josh drops the worm and grabs Timmy by his waist, picking him up and holding him at arm�s length a move that keeps him from getting kicked by flaying arms and legs.

I�m awed at no nonsense way Josh marches directly into the kitchen and plants Timmy in a chair.

�Stay there!� he orders sternly.

Kelly is clearly as impressed. �Mommy gives him whatever he wants when he screams.�

Josh retreats as far as the doorway, keeping an eagle eye on Tim, who is pitching quite the fit, but staying in the chair.

�Donna?� He motions me over.

�How long are you going to keep him there?� I ask.

�Three minutes or so. Will you take David and the damn worm upstairs? Tim and I need to have a man to man talk before this weekend gets out of hand,� Josh replies.

�What happened?�

�When I finished feeding David we went in the living room and sat down on the floor. David starting playing with the worm and Timmy grabbed it away from him.� Josh checks his crappy watch.

�What are you going to do?� I don�t want him doing anything stupid. I can tell by the set of his jaw, he�s fighting to control his temper.

�I�m going to explain to Tim that he�s a big boy now and big boys don�t take other people�s toys. And telling me �no� is not acceptable.�

I�m gaping. In fact, I�m pretty sure my jaw is on the floor.

�What?� Josh looks bewildered. �Why do we subscribe to 3 different parenting magazines if you don�t want me to actually read them?�

�When? When do you have time to read parenting magazines?� I demand. I don�t have time to read parenting magazines and my workload is half of Josh�s.

�You think I actually read all those damn reports I get sent?�

***

Donna just shakes her head, collects David and his worm and herds Kelly upstairs. Timmy�s three minutes are about up. He�s stopped screaming and is just sobbing uncontrollably now.

�Do you know why you�re in time out?� I squat down to his eye level.

�I�m sorry, Unca Joss!� he wails, throwing his arms around my neck and soaking my shirt with his tears. �Don�t go away! I won�t do it again!�

�I�m not going away,� I say, standing up and holding him tight against my chest.

It takes a longer than I expected for him to calm down enough for me to talk to him. The flush of aggravation I first felt at his misbehavior has dissipated; leaving behind the realization Timmy is overwhelming afraid of the people he loves leaving him. 

I can relate.

And I could kill Gerry for doing it to him.

�Now,� I shift him on my hip so I can look him in the eye. �Two things. First of all, when I tell you to do something, you do it. You do not tell me no. Understand?�

Timmy bites his lower lip and looks ready to launch into another round of crying, but he nods nonetheless. I�m not entirely certain he really gets it. This is not unlike dealing with freshmen congressmen who think if they scream loud enough they�ll get whatever they want.

�Second, you�re three now. You�re a big boy and big boys don�t take toys without asking. If you want to play with something David�s playing with you ask Aunt Donna or me. Okay?�

He sniffles, but nods before resting his head on my shoulder.

�Okay, then.� I run my hand over his hair.

***

After Pat came home from the store and Josh headed out on his annual Christmas Eve shopping trek, I put David down for a nap and started work on assembling my gift to Josh. Picking up the faded, black and white photograph Elisa sent me, it�s plain to see where my husband gets his affinity for children. 

What I had asked my mother-in-law for was a picture of Josh and his sister at Chanukah. What she sent me was one from Chanukah 1962. Josh, just 11 months old, is perched on his grandfather�s knee with Joanie standing next to them, watching as their dad lights the candles. It fits perfectly with the picture of Josh and I lighting the unity candle at our wedding and the one I took last week of Josh and David. 

Looking closer at the old black and white, the love Noah Lyman had for his children is plain as day in the way he�s smiling and the familiar twinkle I think I can see in his eyes. I only spoke to Mr. Lyman on the phone a few times and I never met him. From the stories I�ve heard, though, I think he was much like the man Josh is today dedicated to his work, but devoted to his family.

And Josh has claimed my family as his own. I can�t help marveling at the way Timmy and Kelly respond to him both as an overgrown playmate and as an authority figure. I�m sure some of it has to do with Gerry�s abrupt departure. The process server managed to track him down and hand him the divorce papers, but Pat hasn�t seen hide or hair of him since last March.

I slip the first photo into the frame and pick up the second. I barely remember our wedding ceremony. I remember how Josh�s eyes sparkled in a way I�d never seen before and have only seen a couple times since. I saw it last Christmas when I told him I was pregnant and again when he handed me our son for the very first time. Most recently I saw it last Friday when he sat with David on his lap and lit the first candle on the menorah. 

With any luck, I�ll get to see it tomorrow morning when we open gifts.

***

Last year, I went hunting for Donna�s present knowing exactly what I wanted to get her. This year, I�m browsing through the shelves of the same bookstore clueless. I want a book that will tell her what I am incapable of expressing well enough how much I love her and how much she has changed my life for the better. 

I find it after three hours of searching. The guy behind the counter looks ready to throw me out when I finally approach the register. I�ve been mentally composing the note for a week, tweaking it and perfecting every word I�ll etch on the first page.

With any luck, I�ll get to see the same look of love on her face tomorrow I saw when I started this tradition with _The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing_.

***

I thought I understood Josh�s view of holidays being about family and tradition. But it doesn�t hit me how important it is to _me_ until we�re sitting in church for the Christmas Eve midnight service. This is something my family has done as long as I can remember, but until this year, I could take it or leave it. There were no regrets the numerous Christmases I missed the past several years because it isn�t the activity that matters to me.

It�s family.

When I couldn�t come home for Christmas, it was okay because I was with Josh and as long as we�re together, all is right with the world.

Somewhere amid the congregation�s off-key rendition of _Silent Night_ , it dawns on me the reason Josh�s mom remembers her parties with such happiness. They represent a point in her life when she stopped grieving for her lost daughter and started living again. Josh, on the other hand, prefers to honor the memories of his sister and grandfather by keeping their traditions alive.

I think I would be jealous of his focus on those traditions if he weren�t sitting next to me in the pew tonight, with Kelly tucked under one arm and Timmy asleep in his lap while my mom sits on my other side holding David.

***

When we get home from church, I help Pat and Donna put the kids to bed and offer to play Santa for the first time in my life, arranging gifts under Pat�s enormous Christmas tree so she and Donna can go to bed. 

The twinkling blue lights flash against the silver of the menorah I set up earlier in the evening. The candles are on their last legs, the intermittent flickers mixing mystically with the tree lights to fight back the darkness of the room. It�s incredibly beautiful.

Once the gifts are in place, I head upstairs and suddenly notice the vague feeling of unease I�ve been experiencing all week is gone.

Reaching our bedroom, I�m at a loss as to why I�m at peace here versus in Washington.

�Done already?� Donna murmurs, sighing with contentment when I wrap my arms around her.

�I ate the cheese and drank the milk and left the plate out. I wasn�t supposed leave reindeer tracks anywhere did I?� I double-check the list of things I was told to do.

�No reindeer tracks,� she confirms, her body shaking with repressed laughter.

�What�s so funny?� I ask, snuggling even closer to her.

***

�When Pat and I were little, one year we refused to go to sleep. Dad climbed up on the roof to make a sound like Santa�s sleigh landing, except he fell off the roof and broke his arm,� I answer, thinking back to Christmas when I was little.

I have always been a big fan of the Christmas season. Not so much in a �celebrate the birth of baby Jesus� way, but in a �peace, joy and love� kind of way.

My memories are full of pouring over the Sears and J.C. Penney catalogs after Thanksgiving dinner, meticulously compiling lists of toys I was certain I could not make it through the next year without. My sister and I had to put our initials by the things we wanted to ensure we weren�t asking for the same thing.

Josh�s breath is warm and ticklish against the back of my neck as he laughs at my recollection of how Pat and I literally ripped the Wishbook in half one year fighting over which of us would get to put a Cabbage Patch Kid on our list.

�The thing was like a thousand pages thick!� I exclaim in mock indignation. �Dad couldn�t believe we�d actually torn it in two.�

�The best part was when Mom and Dad used to take us to the mall to shop for them. Dad never knew what to get Mom, so Pat and I helped him,� I continue. �One year, we picked out this really pretty pearl necklace and matching earrings. We thought it was the perfect gift. I think I was like six or seven and pearl earrings and a matching necklace was the epitome of what a real lady would wear. I remember she cried when she opened it. All she could say was it was exactly what she wanted.�

***

Donna stifles a sniffle of her own, prompting me to tighten my hold on her reassuringly. This is the Donna I love so much. The woman who puts such care and effort into selecting the perfect gift for someone she loves.

We�re both half-asleep by the time she starts her story again.

�The second Saturday after Thanksgiving was always the day we�d go to the tree lot and get our tree. Mom and Pat stayed home to clear out the space while Dad and I picked out the tree. I think I saw the Charlie Brown Christmas special a few too many times, because I always wanted to bring home the most pathetic looking tree on the lot and Dad always wanted the one that was like 22 feet tall. We would compromise every year and wind up with the perfect tree every time��

Donna trails off and falls asleep mid-story, but with a flash of insight, I realize she left me with the answer to both of the questions nagging me.

Downstairs in the living room is a tree and a menorah, an amalgam of our two faiths, a compromise to celebrate the aspects of the holiday that are most important to us.

In our apartment in Washington, there is nothing of Donna.

Our marriage is built on a solid foundation of compromises and the absence of something of hers was causing the niggling feeling I couldn�t shake.

Content with the realization, I sink deeper into the covers and resolve next year we�ll have a tree with twinkling blue lights that dance off the polished silver of the menorah. The way Donna�s light dances off of me.

***

�Santa came! Aunt Donna! Santa came!� 

Oh, God.

Kelly, at least I think it�s Kelly, just launched herself onto the middle of the bed. Judging by where I�m laying, that means she landed right on top of Josh.

�Oof,� Josh groans in complaint. �Kelly!�

�Sorry, Uncle Josh,� she says, not sounding at all contrite.

�Get up, Unca Joss!�

I open my eyes and sit up, grateful I wore pajamas to bed for once. Timmy�s in the doorway, so excited his whole body is wiggling. Kelly is kneeling between Josh and I, staring at us expectantly.

�Are Grandma and Grandpa here yet?� I ask, hoping to buy a little time to wake up.

�No,� Kelly answers, the drop in her excitement is miniscule.

�Get up, Unca Joss! Santa came!� Timmy yells, having rushed to the side of the bed when Josh failed to stir.

�Is your mom up?� Josh mumbles without opening his eyes.

�No,� the kids chorus. Kelly at least has the decency to sound guilty over waking us first.

Josh pulls his head out from under the comforter to see the clock. 6:30. In the morning.

�Oh God,� he moans under his breath before giving our niece and nephew the once over. �Go wake up your mother.�

He meets my eyes once the kids have scampered full bore out of the room. 

�If we have to suffer, so does she.� His rationalization sends me into convulsions of laughter.

�Must pee!� I finally gasp, bolting from bed as fast as I can.

Josh has David up and is changing him when I return from the bathroom.

�Pat is not happy,� I report, having heard her telling Kelly and Timmy to go back to bed or Santa would come back and take their presents away.

�What time are your parents coming over?� Josh asks distractedly. He�s trying to get David into a pair of overalls and Bear is apparently not interested in wearing clothes.

�Soon, I hope,� I reply. �But probably not until the sun rises.�

***

The sun doesn�t rise soon enough. Deb, Paul and Fred arrive as we�re finishing breakfast a sticky mess of pancakes and eggs. Their arrival leads to almost thirty minutes of screaming, cooing and getting settled in the living room before the real fun begins.

Kelly is in charge of passing out the gifts this year. She started kindergarten this fall and is as eager to impress us all with being able to read our names almost as much as she is excited about it being Christmas morning.

�Uncle Josh?� she asks, crawling over to where I�m sitting on the floor at Donna�s feet with David in my lap, package in tow.

�Yes, sweetie?�

�Who�s this?� She points at the name on the tag.

�Read the letters,� Pat prompts.

�D�� Kelly squints and nearly puts her nose on the package. �I can�t read it.�

�A,� I supply the next letter, cutting her a break because the writing is in cursive.

She sets her jaw and continues to contemplate the tag. �V� I� D! David!�

�Very good!� Donna cheers.

The process goes a little faster after Kelly quickly picks up what all of our names look like. 

�Who goes first?� Paul asks with eggnog-induced cheer. I�m pretty sure the ratio of rum to eggnog in his mug is better than 50-50.

�ME!� Timmy squeals.

Pat leans down and keeps him from grabbing at the largest gift in his pile. �You aren�t the youngest anymore. David goes first now.�

He looks all set to throw a tantrum over it until Donna intervenes. �Why don�t you help David open his present?�

With Timmy and my help, David rips the paper off the gift from his grandparents to reveal a set of building blocks large enough he can�t eat them. 

�Me turn?� Tim looks around the room with his huge blue eyes. 

�Your turn,� Deb agrees.

�Who dis from?� He holds up the odd-shaped package from Donna and I.

�Santa!� Kelly answers, shaking her head at how dumb her little brother can be.

He tears the wrapping off to find the Nerf football that was at the top of the list we got from him a few weeks ago.

The cycle continues around the room until everyone is out of gifts except Donna and I. As usual, we saved our gifts from each other until the end. 

Donna nods her head, indicating I should go first.

Slitting the tape carefully, I see the back of a picture frame. I flip it over and discover the single frame contains three matted, black and white photos. For the second Christmas in a row, my wife as rendered me speechless. I�ve never seen the photo on the far left. I presume the baby on my grandfather�s knee is me, because Joanie is standing next to us. All three of us are watching Dad light the menorah candles. Mamme must have taken the picture. The middle one is of Donna and I at our wedding and the last one Donna took last week of David and I. Across the bottom are the words �Love must be as much a light as a flame Henry David Thoreau� in distinctive penmanship.

***

Josh runs his fingers over the first picture before looking up at me with that look of unadulterated happiness on his face, mixed with a tinge of nostalgia. There�s something nearly indecipherable in his smile, as well.

I know my package contains a book, but the real gift is the inscription inside it. This year is no exception and I understand the message behind Josh�s smile.

__

Donnatella:

�New Candle-Making Techniques� might seem an odd choice, but I mean it to represent the light, the hope you bring into my life every single day. My world was dark for a very long time. When I first met you, you brought a spark into the darkness. The spark became an ember and the ember a flame and the flame brought light to a tiny seed of happiness. I nurtured it alone for the longest time, but it couldn�t break free from the bonds of the past. You fanned the little flame into a fire, though, and the tiny seed started to grow until it bloomed into the love I have for you and our family. I fail every day to tell you how much I love you for that. You�ve given me everything I ever dreamed of and I can only hope I do the same.

All my love, 

Joshua. 


End file.
